


In Aqua Veritas

by firenzia



Category: Good Omens (TV), Good Omens - Neil Gaiman & Terry Pratchett
Genre: Bathtub Sex, Blow Jobs, Bubble Bath, Crowley has some things to get off his chest, Established Relationship, Fluff and Smut, I mean oodles of feelings, Ineffable Husbands (Good Omens), M/M, Married Couple, PWP, Porn with Feelings, Smut, Underwater Blow Jobs, lots of feelings, soft smut
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2020-05-14
Updated: 2020-05-14
Packaged: 2021-03-02 19:20:40
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 2,507
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/24101995
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/firenzia/pseuds/firenzia
Summary: The husbands enjoy a nice evening in the bath, and Aziraphale gives Crowley a stunning demonstration of exactly how little angels need to breathe.Crowley realises that he is out of earshot...and confessions ensue.[Includes a NSFW illustration]
Relationships: Aziraphale & Crowley (Good Omens), Aziraphale/Crowley (Good Omens)
Comments: 84
Kudos: 551





	In Aqua Veritas

**Author's Note:**

> This is a PWP one-shot companion to my main series, [Love, and Other Ineffable Things](https://archiveofourown.org/series/1405606)

* * *

It was evening in the Downs, and a very nice evening at that.

Dusk had turned the cottage’s master bathroom window into a mirror before it finally fogged over. That window was now propped open a fraction to allow hot air out and some fresh air in, and a mild summer breeze ruffled the sheer gauzy curtains. 

The only light in the large, airy room came from the candles: the many, many lavender scented candles placed carefully on the marble sink, the white windowsill, and clustered on the floor all around the enormous, claw-footed porcelain tub that dominated the center of the room. That tub was easily large enough for two, and was currently filled nearly to the brim with steaming, soapy water. One very clean demon lounged inside it with forearms resting on the sides, head lolled back, one leg draped over the edge with foot dangling into space. He had been in there long enough to crinkle the tips of his fingers and bring a flush to his skin, but the water was still as hot as ever. One of the few perks of being a demon was that you rarely had to worry about things growing cold. 

Aziraphale’s elegantly vintage gramophone sat on the little tufted vanity bench a few feet away. The brass horn gleamed golden in the flickering light, disc spinning serenely in place and sending gentle piano music drifting into the air with crisp clarity: Clair de Lune, one of his favourites. He admired the quiet strength and hidden complexity of the piece, with it's deceptively simple, dreamy melody and rolling high notes. It had been the perfect choice for the setting...if not _quite_ for the current activity. 

The hot water cradled Crowley’s body, holding him like a lover’s embrace, and the porcelain edges of the tub were slightly cool under his clutching hands. The gold heraldic ring on his left ring finger scraped at the smooth surface as he shifted his grip. The candlelight was enough to fill the room with a soft glow, yet not strong enough to illuminate the tub itself, leaving him adrift in a small island of dark surrounded by tiny points of light. From this vantage point it felt almost like floating in the blackness of space with stars all about, except that space was cold and lonely. Nothing in this room right now was cold, and he certainly wasn’t lonely. Not all of the flush on his skin was from the heat. 

The water was deceptively still, peaceful, heaped with white suds, bubbles popping slowly and spreading like mist across the steaming surface. 

Beneath that calm exterior, down under the water was heat of a different kind, and movement, and shattering pleasure. Crowley lay with his head tilted back, breathing in slow, deliberate gulps of air, staring up at the vaulted ceiling without seeing it as the tones of Debussy moved through him. All else was silent and serene save for his own quiet, echoing gasps. He was alone, alone in the tub and alone in the room with the soft piano music and candlelight- yet _very_ not alone. The hands grasping tight on his lower back were testament to that; those lips around him, equally tight and perfect, doing things that they sure as flying hell didn’t teach you how to do in Heaven. 

“Christ, angel,” he whispered to the ceiling. “Oh, _fuck_.” 

Aziraphale made no reply, as his mouth was otherwise occupied, and anyways he couldn’t have heard him. Those arms wrapped around Crowley’s waist now, hugging more of him as that mouth increased its tempo, in time with the music, sending pleasure humming through his body as dissonant chords filled his ears. The angel seemed to have a special instinct for what he liked, what he wanted, even when he couldn’t see or hear him. He swore he had never done this with anyone else before, so the only remaining conclusion was that he was naturally talented. “How are you _doing_ that?” Crowley breathed. Of course there was still no answer. 

It had started as a simple bath, as most of them did. Aziraphale had been cleaning his hair, gently running his fingers through it, kissing his neck and massaging his scalp with manicured fingertips, until he thought he might melt right into the water. _You know, darling. We don’t technically need oxygen_ , the angel had whispered in his ear. Crowley had drowsily agreed that this was true, and a moment later had opened his eyes just in time to see the blond head duck under the surface. 

Now, lying moaning in the semi-darkness, it suddenly occurred to him that there was an odd kind of privacy here. A unique chance to say anything he wanted without the embarrassment of being heard. Anything. Even- _especially_ \- the things that burned in his heart but stuck in his throat when he tried to say them to his husband’s face. Even after all these months together, after everything they had been through. There was a kind of cruel irony in the fact that, after centuries of forcibly holding his tongue, he often struggled to speak now that all barriers were finally removed.

“Angel,” he murmured to the empty room. The words reverberated faintly back at him, blending with the music. “I- I love you.” He closed his eyes and shuddered a bit, shifting on the spot as Aziraphale took hold of him and kissed, slowly, base to tip, before resuming. “Mmmph. I want to come inside your mouth. You have such a perfect mouth, like velvet.” He sighed, feeling that velvety warmth slide up and down himself. 

“Your lips are exquisite. Your tongue is- _ah!_ ” He broke off with a gasp, and his eyes flew open. “… _wicked_ ,” he breathed. A moan escaped him as that mouth sped up, and he shut his eyes again. One hand slid off the slick edge of the tub, down through the hot water, and settled on Aziraphale’s head. He stroked the soft hair, brushing with his fingers. “I love it. I love everything about you, did you know that?” he asked quietly. “I love your ridiculous clothes, and your useless little reading glasses. I love your tartan and your dusty old books, and that fussy way you sip your tea. It would break my heart if you changed any of it.” 

A quick nervous peek downward confirmed that the angel’s head was still fully under the dark water, busy and certainly out of earshot. He exhaled a shaky breath and kept speaking, faster, before this new and madcap courage fizzled. 

“I love how you smile in your sleep. I, _ah_ , love how cute you look when you get angry. I even love your stupid m- magic tricks; damn it, I love them, I can't help it. I love the way you take fifteen minutes to choose a book to read, or a bloody century to eat a slice of cake. You drive me _crazy_ and I- I adore it. I’ve adored you since the moment I met you and I don’t know how I ever- _mmmh_ , pretended not to be in love with you.” Saying it felt inexpressibly good, like releasing a pressure behind his heart, and he sighed in abject relief. 

He pulled his dangling foot back into the warmth of the tub and bent his knees up a little more, moaning at the feel of Aziraphale’s head between his thighs. “And...you are kind, and braver than you know,” Crowley whispered, eyes shut tight. “You shine brighter than the stars ever could. You are branded on my soul, and I can’t believe you chose me.” 

One hand released his hip and reached up out of the water to lay flat on his chest, just below his throat; wet fingers grasped briefly before gliding slowly back down the front of his body and under the suds. That hand wrapped around the base of his sex and guided him farther into that soft mouth, pressing the tip down against the back of the throat, then again, and again…. “Oh, you beautiful creature,” Crowley gritted through clenched jaw, clutching desperately at the porcelain edge. “Beautiful, puh- per- perfect angel.” 

At this rate their bath water was going to be decidedly _un_ holy very soon. Would that make it cursed? He coughed out a laugh that turned into another moan halfway through, then a gasp as Aziraphale did something particularly clever with his tongue. 

“ _Aah_ …” He squirmed helplessly in place. The piano music was reaching a crescendo, arpeggios tumbling frantically downward like a waterfall as the soft hands adjusted to slide further under him, clutching with surprising strength, and the pleasure peaked sharply as well. He faltered, but held himself back with a whimper of concentration, staring blindly up at the ceiling. 

“ _Mmmh_ and I- I'd do anything for you,” Crowley continued desperately. “Absolutely anything.” He was nearly stammering, chest heaving, rushing to get the words out in time. Groaning his secrets to the dark like a man at confessional, baring his soul, and it was more raw truth than he could have ever spoken to his angel’s face. Truths buried so deep in his heart that they couldn't rise to the surface, yet rise they did now to pour uncontrollably forth: “I’d Fall a thousand times to keep you safe. If you ever Fell I’d crawl through broken glass down to the darkest pits of Hell to fetch you back. I’d war with God Herself and all Her angels, and tear my soul in half if that’s what it took; I’d drink holy water for you.” This was blasphemy, even by demonic standards, but he didn’t care. If he was damned then let him be damned, for Aziraphale’s sake this time. 

“When you smile at me, I don’t feel Fallen,” he sighed, and closed his eyes. “I love you. I’ll never deserve you, and I love you.” 

The pace suddenly increased dramatically, urgently, and his entire body went taut with incandescent pleasure, obliterating thought. His heels slid across the bottom of the tub as he tried to brace himself, to no avail. “Yes,” he groaned. “Oh, like that, like that, yeah...fuck, oh _yes_...” _So close…so close…_ Oh, he was going to burst… 

Under the water Aziraphale hummed with his mouth still tight around him. The vibrations worked their way deep inside and shattered through whatever control he had left.

“Ahh!” He cried out and pushed his other hand down into the water with a splash, grabbing at the silky hair as he arched back, over the edge of the tub, shuddering. _“Fuck!”_ He spilled himself into that perfect, wet, warm mouth, spilled all his shivering tension and emotion in one ecstatic gasp, and felt a tendril of his power spill out into the world as well. All around them the candles flared high in response, dozens of tiny pillars of flame brightening the room for an instant, and fresh steam rose as the bathwater grew a couple degrees hotter. 

“ _Shit_ ,” he gasped. “Oh, wow.” With a great effort of will he managed to rein himself in before the water started to boil. _That_ would have made for quite the unpleasant surprise. He went limp again and just lay there in the tub, hot water lapping fitfully at the sides, breathing in deep gulps of steamy lavender-scented air with a hand over his face. The room was nearly dark now- most of the candles had been burned down to melted pools of wax, and only a few stubs flickered here and there. Damn. He was lucky that nothing else had caught fire.

Aziraphale finally surfaced a second later, water sloughing off his head and shoulders as he sat up. He kept one hand on Crowley’s chest for balance as he daintily wiped suds from his eyes, then took a deep, slow breath and let it out in a rush. “Oh, that’s better.” He gave his blond head a little shake and blinked around at the room. "Why is it so dark?" He peered over the edge of the tub. "What happened to the candles?" 

Crowley winced, still panting. "Ah, sorry, my fault. Lost control there for- for a second." He could feel his face growing hot, even over the heat of the water. At least in the dim light it probably wasn’t visible. The music faded away in a final elegant run of chords, leaving them in silence. 

"Oh _really_?" Blue eyes sparkled as the angel leaned in and beamed at him, nose to nose, the expression unmistakably smug. He was kneeling between his legs with hands braced on his thighs, as close to him as he could get in the limited space. “That’s never happened before. I suppose I should take it as a compliment, hmm?” 

Crowley opened his mouth to make a glib reply- and found he had no words at all. Aziraphale’s proximity, his scent, his smile...it overwhelmed him and filled his head and chest with helpless longing, even after all this time. The smirk slid off his face and he could only gaze into those eyes, heart still pounding, feeling dazed. The echoes of everything he had been saying rang in his ears and burned on his tongue, so many things that the weight of them left him speechless. His hands came up of their own accord to frame his husband’s rounded face, wet thumbs stroking his cheeks. So beautiful. So improbably _his_. 

He suddenly realized that he was just sitting there staring like a halfwit. He needed to say _something_ , damn it. But the only words in his mouth were the ones he had been speaking earlier, and his traitor tongue refused to move for those now. His throat was clogged so thick with emotion that it was like trying to speak through molasses. He swallowed convulsively and took a deep breath, gathering his resolve to try again - but this time Aziraphale leaned in and kissed him, tenderly, before he could make a sound.

The angel’s mouth was still velvet-soft and intimately familiar, and it stole any breath Crowley had managed to reclaim. For a long time nothing else existed but those lips and tongue moving against his own, lips that miraculously, incredibly wanted to kiss him as much as he wanted to kiss them. The same lips and tongue that had just been down between his legs while he poured his heart out. 

Aziraphale slowly broke off the kiss and looked at him, cupping a gentle hand to his cheek. “It’s alright, my love,” he said quietly. "It's alright. I know." The corners of his eyes crinkled as he smiled, eyes that saw him like no one else ever had, and the knot in Crowley’s chest abruptly loosened. Somehow, some way, Aziraphale always understood.

He took another deep breath, easier this time, and felt the anxiety bleed away. "I love you." The words suddenly came without trouble, and he finally managed that answering smirk. "And it was definitely a compliment."

* * *

**Author's Note:**

> Illustration by [Whiteley Foster](https://www.instagram.com/whiteleyfoster/)


End file.
